


Darkness over Fields of Light

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Light, Smoke and Mirrors [6]
Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: “Forgive me, Gabrielle. I wish I could explain myself better. But I have no words but those of praise, when I look at you.”Her brow furrows. “And that’s enough, sai Deschain? Beauty?”That’s a part of it. He will not lie to himself – nor to her – that’s a big part of it. But there’s more. There is a certainty that he will never look at another woman.“It’s ka,” he says finally, solemnly. “I know it in my heart.”





	1. Chapter 1

Steven Deschain of Gilead falls in love with Gabrielle Verriss of Arten the very moment he sees her for the first time.

He didn’t come here to find a wife, wasn’t even looking for one, even though his friends started reminding him he has duties to his bloodline. Robert laughs that he’s never been very handsome, and soon he’ll start going gray and no girl will look at him. But Steven is twenty-five, and in no hurry. He grew up with the thought he would one day marry for connections or favors rather than love, but he wants to try, at least.

They’re on their way to the main hall, to talk to Alan Verriss, when Steven glances out of the window, and what he sees takes his breath away. He knows, of course, that Alan has a daughter, and he intended to perhaps inquire about the plans for her future, just to cut his unruly _tet_ ’s jests short, but…

Gabrielle is tending to roses in the garden, and doesn’t see him. She’s willowy and graceful, long dark hair pinned up – Steven can see the line of her slender neck – her skin white like rose petals, lips a soft shade of pink, like rose petals. She’s a flower, Steven thinks. He imagines her in the gardens of Gilead.

The first question he asks Alan Verriss when they meet is whether he’d be granted permission to court and marry Alan’s daughter. The answer, predictably, is yes. While they are not close friends, they are allies and Alan knows him, and knows it would be a good future for Gabrielle. And Verriss must have been preparing for that possibility; after all, there are only so many noble girls eligible for marriage.

Steven meets Gabrielle at dinner. He bows and she starts to curtsy, but he stops her, taking her hand. She immediately guesses his intentions. Her blush is the color of rose petals, too.

They don’t talk much, even though Steven is seated beside her. But he’s never been talkative, and he can’t focus on anything but keeping himself in check and trying not to stare at the girl.

“Is something troubling thee, _sai_?” Gabrielle asks quietly.

When he turns to her, he finds she’s looking at him thoughtfully. She’s not giggling, like most girls her age, she’s not trying to flirt, she’s merely assessing.

“I cry your pardon. I’m afraid I haven’t been very good company to thee this evening.” Noticing her glass is almost empty, he pours her some more water – she’s not drinking wine – and uses that to lean a bit closer – but not too close, he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Thy beauty has rendered me speechless,” he says quietly, seriously.

Her eyes widen slightly and she blushes a little, but doesn’t turn away. For a moment, they look at each other. Maybe that is when they really see each other for the first time.

When the dinner is over, Gabrielle’s slender, white hand gently touches his sleeve. “A word, _sai_ Deschain, if I may?”

Steven nods. Hesitates for a moment, but then offers her his arm. She takes it, her fingers feather-light. They don’t go outside, of course; Alan Verriss might believe Steven’s honorable, but when it comes to his daughter, his trust only goes so far. Given Gabrielle’s beauty, Steven thinks perhaps it’s somehow justified.

They walk over to the balcony, where they can be seen by everyone, but not heard, and so they can talk undisturbed.

“Did thee come here to ask for my hand in marriage?” Gabrielle asks, shocking him.

Beneath her blush and obvious inexperience in the matters of courtship, there is sense and wit, and a dose of seriousness. He’s immensely pleased with that discovery.

“No. I came to talk to Alan… thy father,” he corrects himself, “about other matters. But…” His voice trails off, when he wonders how to put his thoughts into words.

She glances away. “I’ve heard the rumors, _sai_ Deschain. That… people worry about Arthur Eld’s bloodline,” she finishes. What she means is that she knows he should be looking for a wife. That perhaps he should already have one. “My father said yes, didn’t he?” she asks, looking up at him again.

“He did. But I would never consider anything without first asking thee.” Gently, not wishing to scare her, he touches her palm. “Would thee do me the honor, Gabrielle? Would thee do me the honor and be my wife?”

She lets him take her hand in his. “Would thee answer my question first?” she asks.

“Aye.”

“Is it true what they say about thee? Art thou an honorable man?” Her eyes are night sky in two pools of water. “Art thou honest?”

Steven clears his throat. The Lord of Gilead shouldn’t be so anxious when facing a woman, he thinks. But he is.

“I try to be,” he replies, with all sincerity. “Does that answer your question?”

She looks at him and slowly nods. “Aye. And that’s my answer to thee. Aye.”

Steven lightly squeezes her fingers. He would kiss her, on the cheek at least, but they are strangers to each other and he doesn’t want to scare her, and everyone’s probably watching them by now.

Her blush is visible even in the dim light. But she squeezes his hand back, and Steven knows they have an understanding.

Before they depart, Gabrielle gives him a rose, as a token of her favor. He has already made preliminary arrangements with Alan, but this is a symbol of the agreement between him and his future wife.

His _tet_ keeps laughing at him all the way home, but he doesn’t even notice.

* * *

 

“It seems she’s bewitched you, _sai_ ,” Marten mocks, a corner of his lips curling up.

He’s always been a little too insolent, but he’s a skilled wizard with a sharp, cunning mind, and that’s why he became Steven’s advisor, as he had been his father’s before. For wits, not politeness. He can be annoying at times, but he’s never failed them and he can also be extremely useful.

“You’ll stop laughing when you see her, wizard,” Steven replies, raising a finger in warning. There are lines Broadcloak should not cross.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – he knows it all too well, always dancing just on the borders. But again, that’s why he’s here.

“Actually, I could see her, _sai_.” Marten smiles, amused. “Show her to you. See if it’s magic, or just old little love.” It’s obvious he doesn’t really think it’s even remotely possible that the daughter of Alan Verriss could be a witch.

Steven smiles, very briefly. “Patience, wizard. Patience. You’ll see her at my wedding.”

“Or maybe earlier? Your _tet_ keeps pestering me to show her to them.” He says that in a way that makes him remind Steven of a lazy, bored cat, stretching just to curl up again and go back to sleep. “If they manage to guess which wine is my favorite, I might even do that.”

“I forbid you.” And then, because he’s in a very good mood, Steven adds: “And I’ll tell Vannay to give you the key to the wine cellar.”

“I bow before that display of diplomacy, _sai_.” Marten makes a hand gesture that usually accompanies a bow, except that he’s sitting. “And I’ve seen her. It’s no witchcraft, just boring, ordinary love. A pretty little flower, indeed, your wife-to-be.”

Steven shakes his head. “Don’t you forget yourself, wizard.”

“Worry not, _sai_.” This time, Marten’s smile reaches his dark eyes. “I have no interest in rosebuds.”

* * *

 

Gabrielle’s a bit hesitant and sometimes a little awkward, but she’s not afraid. Steven doesn’t want to pressure her into anything, no matter how much he wishes they were married as quickly as possible. But still, he apologizes to her for being so hasty. Excuses himself by praising her beauty.

“Is that it, _sai_ Deschain?” she asks, as if the concept was alien to her. “Is it just because thee think me pretty?”

It’s apparent she isn’t half as taken with him as he is with her. But Steven knows he cuts a rather grim figure. He is the lord of Gilead and women turn their heads to look at him, but few have called him handsome.

“Thou art a rose,” he replies. Shakes his head at how foolish he must sound. “Forgive me, Gabrielle. I wish I could explain myself better. But I have no words but those of praise, when I look at you.”

Her brow furrows. “And that’s enough, _sai_ Deschain? Beauty?”

That’s a part of it. He will not lie to himself – nor to her – that’s a big part of it. But there’s more. There is a certainty that he will never look at another woman.

“It’s _ka_ ,” he says finally, solemnly. “I know it in my heart.”

Slowly, Gabrielle nods. “Would thee not ask me the same?”

He smiles briefly. For an instant, she seems surprised he even can.

“I’m not that presumptuous. But I wished to know if this marriage is acceptable to thee.” He pauses. Steven, you fool, he thinks. “If I am acceptable.”

“Aye.”

For a moment, they continue in silence. Gabrielle is walking beside him across the fields of wheat outside of Arten, hand in the crook of his elbow. It’s a warm summer day, and even the air itself seems golden.

“I’ve always known I probably wouldn’t marry for love,” she says at last, shrugging her narrow shoulders. “And there’s never been anyone and…” She breaks off and blushes. “Thou seemed a good choice. People say thou art grim and too solemn. But they also say thou art an honest man, a good man…” She looks up at him and blushes again. “And I like that.”

“I hope I won’t disappoint.” He stops, takes her hand in his. “I’ll do all I can to be a good husband, Gabrielle,” he vows.

She smiles a little. “I know, _sai_ Deschain.”

“Steven,” he corrects, looking at her face. At her smile.

Gabrielle blinks. Her lips part a little in surprise.

Steven takes off his hat. Slowly. Giving her all the time in the world to draw back if she wanted, to tell him if she was not comfortable with this, if he was going too fast.

Her blush darkens, but she doesn’t step away. Merely looks at him, with hesitation, but also curiosity. Her eyes are like the sky at dusk; two pools of shade, comfort and respite on a hot summer day.

Never letting go of her hand,  he leans in and kisses her. A chaste brush of lips, at first, that soon turns to a tender kiss.

When they part, Gabrielle is staring at him, eyes wide. “Steven,” she breaths, in astonishment and disbelief and wonder. And then she hides her face against his neck and clings to him. Her cheek is hot.

Steven holds her, stroking her hair, inhaling her scent. She smells of rainwater and roses.

“My little flower,” he says softly. “I would give you all the gardens of the world.”

She pulls away, still blushing, but firmly takes his hands in hers. “I will settle for Gilead, Steven of the Light.” And then she presses her lips to his in a most innocent kiss he’s ever got from a woman in his entire life. Their mouths barely touch, but she manages to touch his very heart.

Sweet girl, Steven thinks, the sweetest girl of all. He will cherish her. He will cherish her as long as he draws breath.

* * *

 

They say the vows and dance at their wedding, and then suddenly they are alone in his bedroom and Steven isn’t sure what to do.

He’s been with women before. He’s never been shy, except maybe that first time, when he was too conscious of his inexperience and awkwardness. Other times, he’s always been confident.

But now it’s Gabrielle – Gabrielle who looks like a dream in a flowing white gown, with white lace and pink roses crowning her head, with her cheeks flushed from dancing and anxiety.

Just get over it, Steven Deschain, he thinks. She’s the one who has every right to be anxious here, to be hesitant, and she’s probably outright scared a little, too.

He touches her cheek, threads his fingers though her hair. Slowly unpins the veil and all the roses, lets them fall to the floor. Soft, soothing motions.

Gabrielle is blushing so much she’s more like a red rose than a pink one now.

He gathers her in his arms, gently, holding her close but not against him, not yet. Kisses her forehead.

“There’s no need to rush,” he says tenderly. “Gilead needs an heir, but we will have plenty of time for that,” he jests.

She just stares at him, and for a moment Steven is certain she misunderstood him. And then she laughs. She laughs and that laughter makes her fall against him, and she’s not laughing anymore. But she’s still smiling.

“I do want children,” she says quietly. “And I trust you. And I… like you,” she confesses, the last part said in a whisper, as if she was giving away a secret. “But I…” she makes an impatient, frustrated gesture with her hands. “I don’t _know_. And it’s scary.”

Steven chuckles. She seems more startled by the sound of his laughter than she was by his jest. And then she blushes even more.

“If you don’t like something, tell me.”

“And if I like something?” she asks in a low voice, and Steven understands that she’s probably trying to be seductive to seem more confident. Sweet girl.

He kisses her. “That, I will know, I believe.”

She blooms for the first time in his arms, under his kisses, and Steven thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful. But then she curls against him, hot cheek on his shoulder, her slender hand trustingly resting on his chest, and he thinks that now he has. Because the sight and feel of Gabrielle falling asleep in his arms is so beautiful it hurts.

* * *

 

The morning she tell him she’s with child is the most beautiful moment of his life. He kisses her cheeks,  her hands. Then, hesitantly, her lips. Gabrielle blushes. They have made love a few dozen times, and she’s carrying his child, and still she blushes each time he kisses her. Steven finds it adorable.

Even since their wedding, there have been times he thought it all a fairy tale. But now, knowing they will have a child… He’s never realized before how much he wanted to be a father. How much he loves her for having agreed to bear children for him. How grateful he is for being able to wake to find her at his side, and then rouse her with a kiss. How much he loves her. That he worships the very ground she walks, the air she breathes.

He wishes he could tell her all that. But each time he tries, he finds himself at a loss for words. It’s not possible to put such an overwhelming feeling into words. So he just tries to worship her with his eyes and hands and lips, tries to show her he will see to her every need, that he will make sure she’s always comfortable. That she’s his life.

And then Roland is born, and there is nothing in the world but the clear blue of his son’s eyes. Like the open sky, vast and full of hope and promise.

Steven looks at Gabrielle. She’s pale and tired, but her eyes are like a warm summer evening, and she’s smiling. For the first time since they married, she seems truly happy.

I have a family of my own, Steven thinks, astounded. I have a family. It’s a strange thought. It’s a wonderful thought.

He touches Gabrielle’s cheek, gently. “My lady of Light,” he whispers and kisses her tenderly. After a moment, she responds… but there’s something different in her kiss. Something new and tentative and precious.

Steven looks into his wife’s eyes and for the first time he thinks, not only hopes, that one day she might fall in love with him. And then he puts his arms around her and cautiously lies down next to her, and they fall asleep together, listening to the even breathing of their little son.


	2. Chapter 2

Steven watches the tiny smile on his wife’s lips when she’s finished dancing with Marten. That’s when it dawns on him how lonely she must be. His first and foremost obligation is to Gilead, and his duties often call him away from home or away from his wife, and their son is growing up, learning the Way of Eld, and too old to have his mother read to him in the evenings. Gabrielle is close with Vannay, but he has more and more work with teaching the boys, too. And while she’s well loved by his _tet_ and their wives, they have their own families.

Perhaps he should ask Marten to talk to her sometime. Gabrielle has not befriended him, even though she’s been living in Gilead for ten years now, but the wizard is well read, and she would have some to talk to about books, at least. Yes, he will think of that.

* * *

 

“Marten could keep you company sometimes, when I’m gone, if you wish”, Steven offers, when they’re falling asleep in her bed.

Gabrielle freezes. “M-Marten?”

Steven strokes her shoulder, her hand, kisses her hair. “There’s no reason to be afraid.” He holds her closer, but she’s still tense. “I know he may not be very pleasant, but he served my father faithfully for years, and he serves me.” He kisses her hair again. “You’d have someone to talk to, when I’m gone. He’s not as kind as Vannay, but he’s educated. You could talk books. You’d have that, at least.” He sighs when Gabrielle finally relaxes against him. “I have obligations, my little flower, you know that. I wish I didn’t.”

“I know,” she replies softly. “I just wish you could be home more often.”

“It’s not my choice, Gabrielle.”

For a while, they lie in silence.

“I’d rather not…” Gabrielle’s voice trails off.

To think of it, she has been avoiding Marten ever since that dance. True, the wizard can be intimidating if he wants to, but he’s not that scary… But it’s Gabrielle’s choice.

“It’s fine, love.” He squeezes her hand gently. “It was just a thought.” Still, he’s going to talk to Marten, just in case Gabrielle eventually changes her mind.

* * *

 

It seems she did change her mind about Marten, after all. He’s heard they sometimes walk together in the garden – good, fresh air will do Gabrielle good, he never wants to see her so pale again as she was a few months ago – or sit in the library, or sometimes drink tea in her rooms. Robert jokes that he should be wary, least the wizard puts a spell on his wife, but Steven just shakes his head and firmly tells him to shut up, because that jest wasn’t even funny the first time he told it.

Obviously, Gabrielle feels better now. Smiles more often. And someone else would perhaps worry, but Steven remembers what Marten said about rosebuds once, and remembers he was certain the wizard was telling the truth.

* * *

 

They are talking in the war room – it’s still called that, even though it’s been a few lifetimes since the last war and the only reason the room’s still in use is because of that ancient wooden table with a map of Gilead carved on top. Good for planning journeys.

Robert and Christopher are talking quietly, Laird is looking through a letter. Steven is leaning over the map, with Marten quiet like a shadow at his side. But if it was possible, Steven would surely hear the little cogwheels turning in the wizard’s mind. That’s why he’s advising them, after all.

An ordinary day of the _dinh_ of Gilead. And yet there is something off. Steven is sure of that… but cannot quite pinpoint it. And then it hits him.

A whiff of Gabrielle’s perfume on Marten’s robe.

* * *

 

He tries not to think of it, but all his mind can focus on are the images of Marten’s hands on his wife’s body. The way Gabrielle closes her eyes tightly, when…

For a moment, Steven contemplates a few things. Shooting Marten. Banishing him. Going to his wife and demanding a confession. But it’s pointless. Gabrielle would deny, and he’d rather not confront her than see her lie him in the face. And Marten is a wizard, never half as defenseless as he looks – and he’s never looked harmless. Besides, no matter what Steven wants, he cannot simply just kill the chief advisor to the _Tet_ of the Gun. Not when Broadcloak has not outlived his usefulness yet.

But then he recalls his wife’s smiles. Real ones, not forced out of politeness or kindness. Marten makes his wife smile.

Steven hits the wall with a fist, breathing heavily. And then he swallows his pride and decides that if Gabrielle is happier with Marten, so be it. He tried to be a good husband, but perhaps he hasn’t been good enough. Or perhaps she’s simply finally found love. Steven remembers he wasn’t planning on falling in love with her, either, all those years ago. But he did. Perhaps now it’s the same for her.

He could go and demand answers, and make a terrible mess of things that are already tangled. He’s hurt and he wants revenge. But ultimately, that would only result in hurting Gabrielle, too, and even Roland – what would Roland think if he knew? Steven decides that it’s better to spare his family more pain. He doesn’t want to do that to his – their – son. He doesn’t want to do that to his wife, despite all.

He loves Gabrielle enough to step away.

* * *

 

It’s probably too late to try, but he wants to at least talk to his wife. Maybe drink the afternoon tea in her living room, just be near her, at least, if he can no longer be with her. Maybe she’ll let him take her hand. Maybe she’ll tell him a word too much, and he’d be able to forgive her and all will be well.

He’s walking down the hall leading to her rooms when he hears a high-pitched cry, muffled by the thick stone walls, but unmistakable. Like clear notes played on crystal or glass. She’s never… With him, she’s never…

Steven grits his teeth and walks back to his own rooms. She’s never complained; on the contrary. But she’s never… Well, she’s never been in love with him.

* * *

 

He never breaths a word, to anyone. Only makes sure Roland wouldn’t learn of it.

Marten knows, he thinks. Knows all and laughs at him. Steven thinks of his wife and her smiles and it helps him not to care.

That evening he stumbles upon the wizard in the castle’s main hall. Marten could be going anywhere, Steven knows. He also knows Broadcloak is just going back from his wife’s rooms, from her bed.

He looks into Marten’s eyes. Let’s play straight, he thinks. If you even can, wizard.

“I will kill you if you hurt her,” he whispers through gritted teeth, glaring bullets at him.

Marten calmly meets his gaze. “Those were not sounds of pain, _dinh-sai_.” He smiles with the confidence of a man fully aware that he has the higher ground in this duel and who is certain the other can see that plainly. “I cry your pardon. I thought you’d know.”

Steven walks past the wizard, head held high. Pride is the only thing he has left. Otherwise, he’s dead inside. But maybe it’s better. Dead men have no need for love.


	3. Chapter 3

He let her have her lover – her _love_ – let her dishonor him, let her do as she pleased. He stepped back. And he was going to let it be. He had forgiven her. He kept forgiving her, over and over.

But then he found Roland, saw his guns, heard his tale. And for a moment rage blinded him. That she would not spare her child _that_ … But he forced himself to be calm, to calm down his son.

But now… Now Steven is furious. Roland could have forsaken his future – and thus his life – because his wretched mother could not be discreet. He let her have her lover, and she was so taken with the bloody wizard she has forgotten about her son’s feelings. What was she thinking of, exactly? Was she even thinking at all?

He tries to calm down. Tries to think it’s all Marten’s doing. He knows that now. He’s been to Cressia and he knows Broadcloak is now Farson’s man. Maybe he’s been a traitor all along. And now he fled.

That’s what he’ll tell his unfaithful wife. That she was just a mean to an end, that the wizard was just using her, and that he left her alone, forgot about her instantly to save his own skin.

Steven thinks of Gabrielle’s smile and of her tears, and knows he will not tell her any of that. If she only shows remorse. Not for cheating on him, no, not even that. For endangering their son.

* * *

 

He regrets the very moment he sends her away. Regrets what he said. What he heard in reply.

Regrets not falling down to his knees before her and swearing he loves her still, that he would find time. Not promising they could get through this. But he couldn’t. Because he’s not sure they can.

He hopes Roland is safe. He hopes Marten is dead. He hopes Gabrielle will find it in her heart to return to him.

He has no time for any of that, because he has to deal with Farson. Because, before all, Gilead is his wife and child. Even if he wishes it was otherwise.

* * *

 

When he pulls back from the kiss, she’s blushing. She’s trembling. It’s been almost fifteen years ago, but he feels like on their wedding night.

He’s careful. He’s gentle. He’s tender. Gabrielle weeps. Smiles at him through the tears, but can’t stop crying.

“Don’t cry, my little flower. We’ll make it through this. We will. I swear it.” He leans over her, looks into her wide-opened eyes, stills, wishing for this moment when they are one to never end. “I love thee.” He presses his forehead to hers. “I love thee. More than life. More than honor. More than my own happiness.” She shivers, wraps her arms around his shoulders. He kisses her, long and slow, and it’s tears and fire and homecoming. “I love thee.” He showers her face with soft kisses. He showers her with confessions as all the words he could never manage to say before spill from his mouth. “Thank you for bearing me a son. Thank you for being my wife. For all the nights I could fall asleep by your side. For all the mornings I could wake up beside you. For all the mornings I woke up alone on the road and thought of you.” He strokes her cheek, wiping the tears away. She’s sobbing by now, but she clings to him when he kisses her. “I will find time, beloved. More time for you. I will. All the time in the world.” He kisses her again, and it’s sweet and bitter and a little desperate, and perfect. “Thy art my _ka_.”

She presses her mouth against his shoulder to stifle a sob. She’s trembling and crying and she’s a mess, but she’s clinging to him like she never wants to let go.

“I love thee,” he says, kissing her in between her gasping breaths. “I love thee. I… love thee… I…”

For a moment, the world is warmth and light and _hope_. It’s so beautiful it pierces his heart like a bullet.

When he lies down and gently pulls her into his arms, she’s still sobbing. But she clings to him and hides her face against his neck. Her cheek is hot.

“I… I cry your pardon…” she says, voice wavering. She holds him as if she was afraid to lose him again. “Forgive me, Steven. Forgive me.”

“I already have.”

Her fingers curl around his hand. “I love thee,” she whispers softly. “It’s all I ever wanted. To love thee.”

* * *

 

He finds Roland standing over Gabrielle’s limp body. Her gown is red with blood, still warm. And his son is still holding his guns.

Roland looks up at him, in shock and fear and disbelief, like a trapped animal.

“Father, I didn’t…” His voice breaks. “I didn’t want to…” The guns fall to the floor and he hides his face in his hands. “I only wanted to talk…”

Steven briefly puts a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know.” He knows it’s Broadcloak’s doing.

Are you satisfied, wizard, he thinks, looking at Gabrielle’s pale face. I will kill you just as swiftly, when I find you. A mercy you don’t deserve, but I’d rather get rid of you as quickly as possible and then _forget_.

He wants to remember only the good things.

Slowly, he picks Gabrielle up and, holding her close to his chest, carries her over to the bed. There are dry, crumpled rose petals on the sheets. And a shape of two bodies. He lowers Gabrielle down onto the bed, destroying the mocking tableau.

Here, wizard, watch. Neither of us will have her now. But you’ve never had her. She’s the one who’s had you. But she returned to me. Whatever happened on the way here, she’s been with me and she’s been honest… Had been. Had been…

There’s a shudder as he stifles a sob.

He leans over Gabrielle, strokes her hair gently. Her cheek. So pale now. She was so pretty when she blushed…

There’s a smile on her lips, a smile he haven’t seen on her face in what feels like ages. Happiness. She used to smile like that when she held little Roland in her arms…

Steven kisses his dead wife’s lips like he kissed her for the first time that day in the fields, like he kissed her after she gave birth to their son. My love, he thinks, my love, what have we done. What have we done.

He wonders if it would have been better if he had never married her. If he’d left her in the gardens of Arten and had never brought her to Gilead. If he’d waited, if he’d given them time to get to know each other. But he didn’t. He was in love and there was a hasty wedding, and then there was Roland, and suddenly it was over. It was done before she had time to taste love. To taste life like he has. It was done.

My love, my love, I should have waited. I should have shown you, told you. I thought you knew, I thought it was enough. I should have shown you. My love, my love, I should have done a great many things… I should have let you grow in the garden of your home, I shouldn’t have been so hasty. Not all flowers bear replanting well. My love, my love…

I have no words, Gabrielle. I’ve never had words, not around you. You made me breathless and no words would come out of my throat because none were worthy. None could express what I felt. What I still feel. It was pain, Gabrielle. But the pain of love is beautiful when eased, and you were a sweet balm to my heart. Now it’s only pain. Only pain.

My love, my love, I have failed you.

I cry your pardon.

A glint of steel catches his eyes, and Steven turns. There’s a knife under the pillow. He takes in, carefully. It has an odd smell to it, sickly sweetness of decay. Of poison.

He weights the knife in his hand. So Marten send her to kill him, her own husband. And she agreed. Planned to do that. _Tried_ to do that. But in the end she didn’t.

In the end, she remained faithful, in her soul, at least, even if not her heart or mind. In the end, ultimately, she was his.

Steven drops the knife onto the floor. He slumps down himself, kneels beside the bed and his wife’s lifeless body, takes her hand in his – gently, gently – and presses his forehead against her cold, slender palm. And then he weeps.

Forgive me, Gabrielle. I loved thee. I tried. Not hard enough.

My little flower. I let you wilt. I let another tend to you, and he watered you with poison. I hope it was sweet, love. I hope you were happy. It’s all I ever wished for you.

We haven’t forgotten our faces, my love, we haven’t. Alas, we’ve never known them.

Save for that one night.

I love thee, Gabrielle. I love thee.


End file.
